


Twisted

by RoughMoon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughMoon/pseuds/RoughMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deaton sends Derek and Stiles in the search of a mysterious cave, but he won't reveal his final goal to our guys.</p><p>It's really hot and Stiles gets very thirsty, while Derek gets angrier and angrier.</p><p>Things start to turn weird... and wet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what this is... but it was so fun writing it!! ;-)
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. And THANKS for reading!

They’re moving painfully slow under the scorching sun of an insanely hot July.

The air is too humid and too thick, even for California, and they’re panting, every breath noisy and difficult. Their mouths are open and dry, coated, while the rest of their faces is wet with sweat. Each time they lick their lips the little moisture they manage to produce is gone in a matter of seconds and their tongues come back inside of their mouths warm, unsatisfied, frustrated.

There’s no relieve for them, not yet.

Fat drops of liquid roll down their necks leaving slick trails behind that attract insects and that make their hands flail constantly trying to shoo the flies. Their t-shirts are dark with perspiration, clinging uncomfortably to their torsos.

Stiles’ body is sore from the constant brushing of his clothes and pink marks start to paint the tender skin at the inner part of his tights and forearms, around his collarbone… His long and slender neck twists trying to separate itself from the suffocating fabric engulfing it. He wishes he could just get rid of his pants, his t-shirt, boxers, socks and sneakers, and jump into a pool of fresh water, put his hands and feet into a frigid stream or even only stop for a while under a solid shadow, breathing… He dreams of cool air in and out of his lungs, slowly opening them, filling his body with oxygen, clearing his mind, and he starts to relax with abandon, he closes his eyes, arms perching from a branch above his head. Cool air, sooo cool…

 “In and out, in and out, in and out…“

“What?”

Suddenly, reality hits again and he’s almost drowning in a balloon of sweat and hot air. Also of embarrassment… Yeah, he said that out loud, of course. He tries to swallow, but he run out of spit what seems like a lifetime ago.

“Dude, I hate summer, did you know that?” His voice is coarse and the words are laborious to pronounce.

Derek slows his quick ascent to let Stiles catch up, his chest going up and down with every powerful inhale.

“No, not really, but I know you’re crazy. In case you wondered...”

He starts walking again and keeps talking, a little smile filtering through his lips.

“Also… I would have never said it from the filthy slow way you lap those strawberry cones you seem to prefer, nor by how you love to throw yourself into Lydia’s swimming pool soaking everyone around, or by the enraptured look in your face each time I find you reading in my porch at 3.00 AM under the moonlight… No, definitely not aware you hated summer.”

“Well, you know it now. I’ve always been an autumn person, and I’m moving into winter now. Yeah, winter is fucking awesome, cold is the best, snow is my new wet dream.”

But Derek is no longer paying attention to Stiles’ ramble; he’s simply overwhelmed, dizzy from everything coming from his senses. He is about to pinch his nose and stuff his fingers into his ears trying to block some of the sensations that are filling him, contributing to his present uneasiness.  The rich scent from the dirt telling him of the animals that have been gone through this trail and have left all kind of marks there, the sounds the two of them make when they walk and breathe and swallow, the putrid stink from a deer corpse decaying a mile away, the low buzz of flies and bugs, the tickling, dry fragrance from the pines under the inclement sun, and Stiles’ particular combination of smells that’s covering it all: freshly cut grass, lemon oil and gunpowder, intensified now by the sweat and the closeness of their bodies. As they keep walking all of this is getting too strong, powerful and almost violent. There’s an indefinite threat around them, something he’s not able to identify yet but that makes him tense and bad tempered.

Obviously, he’s not really tired from the short hike, but he has a funny sensation inside his guts, a physical discomfort that he’s been trying to dismiss for the last half an hour. A push, a need to get closer to something he cannot see or understand, just sense with an inner feeling of strings inexorably pulling his limbs towards an end goal, a cliff, a life changing event. He shivers in spite of the heat and hurries uphill, angry at Stiles, who is taking this like it's a visit to the zoo with his classmates.

Where he is the caged crazy wolf, of course…

Stiles stopped a few feet behind Derek and is now entranced, looking at the strange vines growing wildly around their path, hanging from the trees, tightly intertwined with the branches, embracing them so densely at some points that the trunk is totally covered by this weird plant. The leaves are a bright intense green, unknown in the area, and they leak a whitish substance from their tips.

The curious cat he is, Stiles sinfully puts his hands on it before Derek can stop him.

“Don’t touch them!” Derek shouts, almost a roar, making Stiles jump in the air like a spring.

Stiles takes his hands away from the leaves as if they just bite his fingers, a frightened look in his face.

“Why?” His voice comes out little, almost childish, and he hates Derek for that.

“I don’t know, but I’ve run around this forest most of my life and I still can’t recognize that plant, and… they don’t smell at all. It’s strange. We’ll take some later so we can bring a sample to Deaton. Try not to be stupid, ok?”

“Yes, ok, I’ll behave, no need to be a cocky bastard...”

Stiles tries to clean his hands with his jeans, leaving smears of the sticky substance all around his thighs. Seeing there’s nothing he can do to make it better, he sighs trying to follow Derek’s ass up the hill, really not wanting to lose sight of him.

After a relatively complain-free climb, they get to the clearing, high enough to have much less vegetation around, with big rocks exposed to the sun all around. Hopefully the entrance of the cave they are looking for is also close, if they can rely on Deaton’s vague indications. The trees here are tall and erect, their arrogant tips pointing to the sky with distant determination. The younger ones, slimmer, swing slowly without any breeze to justify the movement, bored by the two strange visitors that look puzzled around them, sucking air like fish out of water. The silence is eerie, expectant.

“It’s strange, big man…”

“What? What is strange?”

Stiles sighs, frustrated by his unusual lack of words.

“I’m hungry, but I’m not hungry at all, really? I have a void in my stomach, only that maybe it’s not the stomach… Maybe… it’s lower, if you know what I mean. I’m kind of nervous, but I don’t know why… Do you… Do you feel the same? Do I even make sense?”

Derek doesn’t speak…. Derek spits words.

“No. You only sound like an idiot. But that’s quite usual. Let’s go”

“At your service, you fucker…” Stiles groans.

“Please, Stiles...”

And then... Stiles can't take that shit anymore, he just... loses it.

“Please Stiles what? What do you want, Derek? I don’t understand what we are doing here, and I’m beyond stressed. That’s fucking strange, and I’m tired, hot and thirsty, man, sooo fucking thirsty. I really need something to drink, I think I’ll faint if I can’t drink anything soon enough; I would puke if I had any liquid inside of me. Do you know what a heat-stroke is, you inhuman power ranger? I’m in danger and you should protect me. You should have taken more water, why you didn’t take more water? You know the place, asshole. You shouldn’t have believed Deaton’s light comments, like this was a fucking funny walk around the park. Why today, why at that specific time of the day? Do you ever question anything, moron? Sorry, but I don’t think I can continue without drinking. Seriously, we should try to find a stream before we try anything else.”

Derek’s torn between feeling sorry for the human or kicking the shit out of Stiles for insulting him and blame him for all the bad decisions taken that day.

Indecision leads to inaction, of course, and Stiles' face gets more and more desperate...

“Do something, man! Spit in my mouth before I dry out and the only thing left to do is to bring my carcass to my poor father!”

Derek’s face now gets really red, his eyes narrow and Stiles imagines he sees fumes going out of his nose, like a character from an old cartoon. All together it would be pretty damn funny, only that it’s not funny at all. Human comprehension finally reaches Derek’s eyes and words start leaving his mouth again.

“You are annoying, so fucking annoying! Can you please close your mouth? I mean, literally. Shut the fuck up, seal your lips, hold your tongue, breath with your nose. Please. You’re not that bad, I can feel it, you’re just panicking like the little kid you are, and you are only making it worse by talking so much. Let’s just finish this quick so we can go back. Try to find some shadow and dream about Lydia or any other stupid crush you have right now while I find the fucking cave, ok? Leave me the fucking alone!”

Of course, that’s the last thing Stiles will do.

“Congratulations, dick! You _do_ find words when you really need them, right? But of course you can only use them to punish me. Why can’t you say nice things sometimes? Like that your six pack is actually made of three cans of beer and three of soda. That would be so fuuucking aawsooome, dude! So, what do you say? Can I take a look to check if my wish has been made true? Maybe it is, just for once!”

Derek’s smile is wicked when he speaks now. -“Why don’t you look at my sharp teeth instead? Sinking deeply into your flesh? Maybe _my_ wishes are the lucky ones this time…”-

“Ok, don’t bite me, beastie, it was just an idea. I’m too muscled to make a tender dish, in case you haven’t noticed. And I bet my blood would be too viscous now, if you’re thinking about evolving into a vampire. Not refreshing at all, no, no, no. You would get all messy and sticky without obtaining what you really want. So no, not a good movement here, not at all...”

And he goes on and on, Derek’s own private hell impersonated…

“Do vampires exist, by the way? Could a werewolf be a vampire at the same time? Would you sparkle? That’d be so cool, yo! Can I be your Bella? Even if it's just for one day? Can I jump to your back? Would you carry me back to the car like the gentleman I know you secretly are?”

Derek looks straight into his eyes, sharp and serious.

“If I pay you enough will you shut up? Just say your price.”

What Stiles thinks is that that scowl… that scowl really has no price…

“Man, what can I say? No money on earth can pay my silence. Wait, you are talking about money, right? Because I can imagine other ways to pay me. Then, maybe I _do_ have a price...”  He’s so stupidly amused by his own words that he thinks he might be really losing his mind.

“Oh, man, I’m hilarious and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You’re not hilarious, you’re delicious… I mean, delirious! You… you blow my brains out, Stiles! Just sit and shut the fuck up. Please!!”

Derek leaves Stiles’ side without looking back, furiously examining the area, trying to find clues to what they are looking for. After a while he stops in front of what looks like an innocent pile of rocks. The weird plant is here as well, twisting and curling its branches around the stones, shining under the sun.

“Will you come here, Stiles?”

Stiles’ voice sounds a bit dizzy, and Derek feels guilty. Maybe the boy is feeling sick after all… But then the meaning of his reply reaches his brain and guilty is not the word he would use to describe his feelings.

“Sure thing my furry friend, always coming for you!”

**~s~**

The entrance of the cave is small and dark, hidden behind thick trees and bushes that are suspiciously lush for that area. Derek tries to move some of the hard rocks at the entrance in order to make it easier to get in. Also, to guarantee a quick escape in case they need to run at the end… It’s a slow process that makes his hands and fingers burn and his blunt nails break, but he goes through it patiently until there is sufficient space for one person to squeeze through it and he is certain enough that is not going to collapse trapping them inside. The moss covering the walls is moist, making them surprisingly slippery and preventing Stiles’s arms and legs from getting scratched and bruised when they finally penetrate the black hole that is the gate of the cavern.

“Man, this is tight! I wasn’t aware you were so flexible… Who would have guessed you could bend that way! And you’re lucky I’m a stiff but lanky boy, or you would have to go there on your own. And I remember very clearly Deaton saying: 'the two of you'. I would be so far away from here right now if not, buddy...”

After the narrow entrance the cave is pretty wide, enough to move comfortably, and there seems to be a crooked path at the end of the round space.

“Let’s try to move around. Deaton said we would know what to look for and what to do once we were here. I really can't wait to go back and forget about today... Can you feel something?”

“Yeah, well, I feel the same as before, just intensified. By the way, I love Deaton’s errands, did I mention it already? You know, the man has a whole warehouse full of hidden agendas, and that makes me feel so good, so confident! Why only the two of us, why the not explaining what we’re looking for, or what to do when we find it? I know he said it was important but not dangerous, but pissed off is so far away from what I feel right…”

A sudden sound and a moan, followed by Stiles’ muffled complaints make Derek stop walking. Stiles immediately collides against his back.

“Shit, I bumped my head! Fuck! Is this sweat or is it blood? I can’t see it! Derek, do you smell blood?”

“No, you’re not bleeding, pussycat!”

”It’s really dark here, wonder man, I can’t see shit. Did you bring a torch or something? Can we use our phones to illuminate the situation a bit?"

Derek seems determined to make Stiles’ life as difficult as possible, so of course he doesn’t go with his proposal.

“No, I prefer not to use any lights; I want to explore a little bit first to make sure this is safe. Come here, take my hand, I’ll drive the way.”

“Yeah, yeah, ok, be my beam, my were, be my beacon, be my shining star.”

Derek hisses between his teeth using his best style.

“Shuuut the fuuuck uuup, Stiles.”

“Ok, shutting up, even if you regret it later.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

They manage to walk what seems like half a mile or so in relative peace, until Derek stops.

“Water”

“Hum?”

“I smell water, I think there’s a pond close by, let’s go, let’s find it.”

“So into that, man, so into that!”, Stiles whines.

They hurry up, and Stiles squeezes Derek’s hand involuntarily. His brain can only think about water.  The soil is now less solid and dry, and it quickly turns into mud, sticky to the soles of their sneakers.

“I hear it now, so it’s moving. I think it’s a stream, or…”

“What?”

“A fountain.”

“Oh, man, I can’t wait, I really can’t…”

"We're close, we're very close."

They follow a twisted path that goes inside the earth along the little stream. Their steps become more urgent every time, their shoulders and knees bumping against each other, until they find the source, a little fountain producing a tiny rivulet of clear water.

The little sound is music to Stiles’ ears, he could cry and dance if he wasn’t so thirsty and so tired.

There’s more light here, coming from little cracks in the walls, so Stiles can see the end of the path that leads to the water, can distinguish the rocks and the moss, and Derek’s face when Stiles asks him, when he pleas to him…

“Derek, can we… can we drink? It's not poisonous, right? Can we? Please say yes, please say yes, please…”

“Yes”

“What?”

“Yes, it’s good Stiles, I smell it and I know it’s safe, you can drink it. Go ahead, don't be afraid. Just be a good boy and drink it all.” Derek's voice is hoarse, but Stiles doesn't notice it, or the way he slowly licks his lips at the sight of water.

There’s space for only one person, so Stiles greedily leans against the fresh surface and opens his lips, letting the small amount of water popping from the rock slowly fill his mouth, entering his body drop by drop. Slow, so fucking slow… It's torture to be waiting until his mouth is full of liquid and he can swallow it, but it's also so good. He closes his eyes, concentrating on the wet sensations in his face and throat. The liquid caresses his lips, his chin, runs down his neck, travels to his navel, tickling him, refreshing his thirsty skin. And he sucks and swallows and chokes a little, wets his hands with the little pools around his feet and tries to clean his face, his nape, his hair and his eyes.

That water! That water is tasty, is nectar, is liquor, it’s the most intoxicating thing Stiles has ever tried. His clothes are damp now, and he knows he’s muddy but feels fresh and clean and so fucking new. And he swallows more, he licks the rock, presses his cheeks against it, kisses it in excitement, enjoying how his tongue feels the cool, rough rock from where the water incessantly spurs. He drinks and drinks and drinks, losing any sense of time or space, drinks until his stomach aches and he thinks he might vomit if he keeps swallowing. He feels full, sated, satisfied in body and spirit.

He starts to move but can’t help sticking out his tongue to lap at the source once more, just one last time…

He then remembers about Derek.

“Oh my god! Derek, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t stop, I swear. It is so good, so, so good and I was so thirsty! But please, don’t kill me, man, I’m so sorry, why didn’t you say anything, why didn’t you hit my head? Why…”

He stops dead when he sees Derek’s face, when he really looks at Derek.

Derek’s eyes are wide open, his mouth is loose, his tongue a barely visible angry red snake; his lips are swollen, his skin is flushed, his nostrils flare slightly with every breath he takes. He’s seated in the middle of one of the shallow pools and Stiles can see his jeans and t-shirt are a second skin to him now; his legs are spread, his arms barely supporting his weight, and he looks spent, wrecked, about to lose any remaining pretense of balance. His gaze is lost and raw, and Stiles startles when he realizes they are so close that he can feel the wet heat coming in waves from Derek's body.

Then Derek slowly moves one hand, reaching out with one finger to take a single drop of water from the corner of Stiles’ mouth. He carefully licks it with his tongue.

“I’m ok.”

“I feel so full…”

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, thanks for leaving comments or kudos if you enjoyed it!


End file.
